Songs of the Magi
by Wavelet365
Summary: When the Tristain Academy of Magic is transported to the Riverlands, fourteen years into the reign of King Robert, Westeros will never be the same again.
1. Prologue

**Songs of the Magi**

Dislaimer: I do not own either A Song of Ice and Fire or Familiar of Zero.

Note: while largely following ASOIAF canon, this story uses the character ages from the GoT television series (everyone is two years older in the television series).

**Prologue**

She would not cry. She would not.

She had already failed the familiar summoning spell twice now, whereas all her peers had succeeded in their first attempt. That she even was allowed to make a third attempt was due to nothing more than Professor Colbert's kindness. She should have been thrilled at that chance to avoid expulsion from the Academy, but she did not know what she had done wrong the first two times.

Other students who had made small errors in preparing their summoning circles had been corrected by their instructor, but Professor Colbert had not needed to correct her. Her preparations had been perfect. Her wand motions motions were perfect. Her chant was perfect. So, why couldn't she summon anything? Was she really just a commoner pretending to be a noble after all?

No. She would not accept that. She had one more chance, and she definitely would not fail. If her spells were not working, then she would just have to use more magic. She would not just use what felt right – since that had obviously been wrong, as it had not worked. She would simply keep pouring willpower into her summoning spell until something – anything at all – appeared.

Taking a deep breath, Louise focused carefully on remembering the correct wand motions and incantation, she dredged up every ounce of willpower she could muster, and then the young mage began to chant.

"I, Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, in the name of the great Five Pentagon Powers, following my fate, summon a familiar!"

For once, Louise's spell caused no explosion, but no familiar came forth either. Louise could feel her willpower pouring into the magical circle before her eyes. The circle was glowing with a blinding white light. Still, however, her familiar was not appearing.

"Ms. Valliere," Professor spoke to her in a kindly voice. "I know this must be discouraging, but-"

"No!" she very nearly screamed.

Normally, she would never contradict a professor, but she couldn't allow herself to fail here. Mother would never forgive her. She would never forgive herself.

"No, professor. I can do it," she affirmed, as her wand itself began to heat up in her right hand.

Her summoning circle doubled in size, and then doubled in size again, so that the majority of the Vetri Courtyard suddenly found itself within her circle. Still, though, nothing appeared.

Louise was breathing hard, as yet more of her willpower drained into the circle through her wand, but she still would not give up. This was not how the summoning ritual was supposed to go. Even Tabitha's wind dragon had not needed a larger summoning circle when she had summoned it, but maybe her familiar was even bigger than that. It didn't matter. No matter what, she would not allow herself to fail.

"Ms. Valliere, please! Stop!"

But Louise could barely hear her instructor through the pounding in her ears. She gathered more willpower – every last erg of magical power in her body – and focused on pushing every last bit of that power into her summoning circle.

The circle pulsed a blinding white colour once more, the academy's staff and students freezing in place for a moment, as the icy cold energy of the void rushed past them, and then Louise brought down her wand, and the world went white.

The ground quaked. The senses of students and staff were overwhelmed by blinding light and sound. Then Louise Valliere looked into the centre of her summoning circle hopefully, and had her hopes dashed.

"There's nothing there."

Utterly spent, without either and willpower or hope remaining within her, Louise collapsed, falling to the ground face first.

To those outside the walls of Tristain's Academy of Magic, the school's disappearance would remain a mystery for a long time to come. Where the great castle had once stood, only an empty field remained. No convincing explanations were found, even after a lengthy royal inquiry.

The disappearance of an entire generation of Tristain's leading aristocrats was, in the years that followed, generally considered to be one of the primary causes of Tristania's Quiet Revolution, in which the Queen Mother and Princess of Tristain were deposed in favour of a council of the nation's leading nobles and notaries (although, theoretically, Queen Marianne continued to be the head of state during her confinement). Some also consider this event to have been one of the sparks which ignited the War of Tristanian Succession.

This story, however, is concerned with just what happened to those who disappeared from Halkegenia on the day when Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere was to summon a familiar, as well as how their arrival reshaped the land in which they appeared. The events it addresses are those immortalized by the bards in Songs of the Magi.


	2. The Knight of Hag's Mire

**Songs of the Magi**

**The Knight of Hag's Mire  
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Hag's Mire was not a place for a proper knight. Perhaps, for his elder brother, Lord Walton Nayland – named in honour of one of their liege-lord's countless progeny – it sufficed as a seat on which he could rest his pale arse. For Ser Raymond, however, its dreary bogs and peaceful roads offered him little opportunity for glory – glory he sorely needed.

He was a fourth son of a knightly house. No keep or lands awaited him in the future: not unless he earned them through glorious deeds or gained them through marriage to a highborn maiden. However, to win the heart of a highborn maiden, he would need to be either far fairer of face, or much more than middling in the joust. As a middling jouster with indifferent looks, unless he wished to live off his brother's charity for the rest of his days, he would need to show his mettle through deeds.

It was for that reason that Ser Raymond of House Nayland had ridden north along with a trio of knights, leaving his family's keep miles behind. Hag's Mire might be a boggy backwater, but, the closer one rode to the Twins, the more likely it became that one might encounter bandits, who were known to accost rich travellers seeking to cross the Green Fork.

His hopes for glory even his far north of his home were slim, but, in the peaceful days which had followed the last Ironborn Rebellion, there was little better for a knight to do than hunting bandits. Also, the further from his brother's lands he rode, the more pleasant the scenery became, as the stinking grey bogs of Hag's Mire were gradually replaced by grassy plains.

"Oy, Rivers," his younger brother, a newly made knight, addressed the eldest of their quartet. "I've heard tell that you spent last night with the inn keeper's daughter, Bethany. Lookin' to pass on your name to a son?"

Edwyn Rivers – a red-haired, brown-eyed knight who had served his father when Raymond was still nursing – replied with a sigh.

"You know, Stevron, it is possible to spend a night with a woman without getting a bastard on her. Considering how you are with women, it's something you might want to learn if you don't want the father of every crofter's daughter between here and Riverrun out for your blood."

Stevron simply laughed. Unlike Raymond, who took after their father, Stevron had inherited the looks of their grandmother – a rare, blond-haired, green-eyed beauty who his father had said put even the Lannister queen to shame back when he was still alive.

Their fourth companion as they rode up the Green Fork – silent Ned Stone – said nothing, as was his way. He was as good a man as any in Hag's Mire with sword and shield, but, ever since his wife had died in the last winter, you had a better chance of getting a casual word out of a rock than silent Ned.

All in all, it was pleasant company, a pleasant, leisurely ride, and pleasant scenery. That was something, even if, two hours into their ride, they had still not seen anything worth commenting on, to say nothing of anything which might earn him some lands of his own.

Then, just as he was starting to consider turning back for the day, the world went white.

Panicking, his horse nearly threw Raymond off before he managed to regain control. Behind him, he could hear at least one of his companions falling off his saddle, as the knight's horse fled from whatever had just happened.

"What in the Seven Hells was that?" he wondered out loud, trying to blink the white spots out of his eyes.

Then Ser Raymond's vision began to clear, and his eyes widened.

Not more than twenty feet away, a castle had appeared along the road in front of him. He knew these lands well, and had visited the three keeps between his brother's seat and the Twins on many occasions. Each should have been at least two or three miles away, and even if he had somehow lost track of where he was, this was no landed knight's keep.

No. Unless his eyes deceived him, this castle – which he would swear by all the Gods had not been here even a moment ago – might even be as large as Riverrun, the great castle from which the Tullys ruled over all of the Riverlands. What sorcery was this?

"Seven Hells," Edwyn exclaimed, apparently catching sight of the impossible fortress as well. "How?"

Gathering his wits, Raymond turned towards his fellow knights, taking in their state.

It was his younger brother Stevron who had lost his horse. The two older knights had apparently managed their own mounts. Three knights – even thirty knights- could not hope to storm a castle like this one, but they should at least be able to find the front gate and ask just where in the Seven Hells this castle had come from. That probably would not earn him his keep, but it might be a start.

"Stevron, try to find your horse if it has not run too far. In the meantime, Edwyn, Ned and I will ride around this castle, and try to find out just whose seat it is, and how it came to be here."

Pulling his reins towards the blue-domed tower on his left, Raymond directed his horse in a steady trot, beneath the castle's fifteen foot walls. At a second glance, while still impressive in size and the quality of its construction, the castle seemed rather strange in some respects. A fifteen foot wall was not one any horse could jump, but, facing a siege or an assault, it would be easily overcome by short ladders or even a climbing hook and rope. There were also no arrow slits from which the defenders might strafe there foes. Instead, the walls were perfectly smooth – in fact, smoother than any walls he had ever seen.

As he round the blue-domed tower and finally caught sight of the castle's entrance, he found himself surprised again. No drawbridge or moat protected the fortress' most vulnerable point. In fact, the open arch seemed almost wholly undefended. If not for the handful of groggy footmen in front of the stone archway who were unsteadily rising to their feet, Ser Raymond might have thought the gate abandoned.

Riding up to one of the soldiers in front of the archway, who seemed to be using some sort of steel club to help him rise to his feet, Raymond called out, "Excuse me, good man, but whose castle is this, and how has it come to be here?"

The gate guard seemed to still be blinking spots out of his eyes, as he looked up at Raymond on horseback, but he answered all the same.

"It's Tristain's Academy of Magic, of course, what else would it be? And what do you mean, how did it come to be here? Are you drunk?"

Raymond raised an eyebrow.

"You know, I am beginning to wonder. It's not every day when a castle just appears out of thin air as I am riding along the Green Fork. Regardless, as this keep has appeared within the lands of my liege lord without warning, it is my duty to investigate it."

The guard looked even more sceptical at this pronouncement.

"Look friend, I'm not sure what you're trying to pull, but after whatever it is those noble brats just did, I'm not exactly in the mood for jokes. Either talk sense, or get going."

Behind him, two other guards pointed another pair of odd metal clubs in his direction in what he suspected was meant to be a threatening manner. He closed his eyes and sighed. He had been patient with these men, as they were clearly disoriented, but for common soldiers to belittle and threaten a nobleman like this was simply unacceptable.

Drawing his sword, Ser Raymond held the blade up in the air like a banner, hearing the reassuring sound of his fellow knights drawing their own steel.

"Perhaps I was unclear. These are the lands of House Nayland, granted to our house for our leal service to House Frey. In short, stand aside and show me to your lord, or you will taste castle-forged steel."

That was when the thunder sounded twice, and pain lanced through his gut, as if it had been pierced by a lance. Severely startled, his horse threw him to the ground, as Ser Edwyn and Ser Ned sought to calm their own steeds.

He was bleeding. What had happened? What he had thought were two clubs were now billowing black smoke. Were they what had caused the thunder?

"Right then. Threatening guards of the Academy is a punishable offence, so we'll be taking you to the headmaster for sentencing. As for your friends..." the guard trailed off menacingly.

Ser Edwyn and Ser Ned looked from their leader to the unnatural metal devices uncertainly, and then back again. Finally, Ser Edwyn spoke up.

"Raymond, we'll tell your brother of what has happened here. May the Seven give you strength."

Then both of his men turned around on their horses and trotted away at a steady gallop towards where they had left Raymond's younger brother moments ago. That, of course, was not the brother who they intended to tell.

Raymond managed a thin smile through the pain in his gut. As a noble prisoner, he would not be mistreated, and, once his eldest brother – the Lord of Hag's Mire – heard of his predicament, he doubted he would be a prisoner for much longer, strange, smoke-belching devices or not.

House Nayland was only a knightly house. Even if his brother mustered all his men, it was unlikely he would command more than two dozen knights and one hundred and fifty foot, but Raymond had not lied when he named them leal vassals of Lord Walder Frey. Trespassing on the lands of one of Lord Walder's vassals was an insult to House Frey. Taking a knight of one of Lord Walder's vassals hostage was an insult to House Frey. And Lord Walder Frey was not a man known for taking insults well at all.

As Ser Raymond was dragged to his feet, stripped of his armour and weapons, and then manhandled towards the central tower of this castle by a pair of its guards, he was already looking forward to the day very soon when the shoe would be on the other foot.


	3. Miss Longueville

**Songs of the Magi**

**Miss Longueville**

Less two hours had passed since Louise Valliere's failed summoning spell had temporarily blinded and disoriented each of the academy's students and staff members, the very Earth seeming to shake beneath their feet. Old Osmond – the white-haired and bearded headmaster so old that none save, perhaps, he himself, even remembered his age anymore – had been one of the worst effected, the sudden shock having caused him to pass out for almost thirty minutes. Even now, it was clear that he was far from wholly recovered, as his familiar Motsognir had not even once taken the opportunity to peer up her skirt since he regained consciousness. Normally, this would please the headmaster's secretary, who often served as the target of his perversions, but, with every report she and the headmaster received from the academy's staff, she was getting more and more worried.

"Indeed, headmaster. The immediate surroundings of the academy seem to have changed significantly. I can confirm that the river running parallel to the wall between the Fire and Earth towers stretches for at least one thousand mails in either direction, while the road connecting the main gate of our academy to Tristania is absent. Of course, even on gryphon back, determining whether the capital itself has disappeared or not was not possible, but, considering the rest of our surroundings..."

"Yes," Osmond replied, breathing out a cloud of smoke from behind his pipe, as he stroked his beard. "Although I am reluctant to give credit to the strange theories being bandied about by some of the staff, what you've reported is certainly troubling, Vendome."

Pierre Vendome – the academy's wind magic instructor – was quite a skilled gryphon rider, having had one of the winged mounts as a familiar since his own days at the academy. Thus, when Madame Chevreuse – who had been teaching a class in the Tower of Earth – had reported that a river seemed to have suddenly appeared outside her classroom's window, Vendome had been tasked with investigating the matter. The report he had offered after surveying the area really was surprising, even to her.

While she played the role of Miss Longueville for the benefit of the Tristain Academy of Magic's staff, in truth, she was rather better known amongst Halkegenia's nobility by the sobriquet Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth, the continent's premiere thief.

Fouquet had taken on her latest cover identity in order to acquire an item for which one of her occasional buyers was willing to pay a small fortune. For whatever reason, Viscount Wardes – although he was under the impression that Fouquet was unaware of his identity – wanted the Staff of Destruction quite badly. Of course, it could also have been that his allies amongst Reconquista (something else which she was not supposed to know about) hoped to use the staff in their war against Albion's royal family.

In truth, so long as his money was good, his reasons were not that important to her. The Tudors were no friends of hers, having stolen her family's lands when she was only a child, so she would be pleased to help with their destruction, but even if the viscount was just looking for an expensive knick-knack, she had been more than willing to oblige him when he was offering enough ecu for Tiffania and the orphans she looked after to live comfortably for the rest of their days.

However, Professor Vendome's report might force her to set back her plans until she at least had a better handle on the situation. It would have been one thing if that little Valliere brat had just summoned a river. That still would have been completely insane, but, in the end, would not have really impacted her plans to steal the Staff of Destruction at all. However, it was not just the river. The roads were in different places, a nearby village had seemingly vanished, and even an experienced gryphon rider could not find a single recognizable landmark. As ridiculous as the idea sounded, it seemed as if the academy's least talented mage had managed to fail at the summoning spell with such zest that her failure had transported the whole of Tristain's Academy of Magic to an entirely new location.

Were they still in Tristain somewhere, or had the girl sent them all the way to Gallia or Germania? While the chaos Miss Valliere had caused might yet aid her in her theft, she was reluctant to flee the academy with a legendary magical weapon when she might accidentally stumble upon a company of Gallian mage knights on her way out. In her profession, knowledge was power, so she found her lack of knowledge at present rather vexing.

Of course, beautiful, innocent Miss Longueville would have a rather different view of the situation. First and foremost, she would be concerned with the safety of the academy, as well as her own personal security. The poor dear always fretted about that sort of thing, but was usually easy to calm down once one of the big strong men of the academy's staff reminded her of all the marvellous enchantments guarding their fair school.

Affecting an uncertain expression, the green-haired beauty for once interrupted the headmaster's briefing with a pertinent question.

"But Old Osmond, if even the roads have disappeared, then how will the students be fed? The gardens are mostly decorative, after all. I doubt that they could provide much food at all."

"Miss Longueville, please remember your place," the headmaster replied, turning towards his secretary. "As I have mentioned before, I would prefer that you not interrupt my conversations with the staff."

"I-I apologize professor. I just-"

"No," he interrupted. "Your concern is understandable, but not anything you need worry about. We still have two weeks worth of food in storage, and that could last twice as long if we have the students cut back on their meals a bit, although that may cause complaint. Hopefully, our situation will be resolved by then, but, if not, Madam Chevreuse, Madam Mancini and a dozen or so of their more skilled third year students should be more than capable of seeing to our most urgent needs."

Fouquet doubted that. It was true that, when working together, even line rank earth and water mages could tend to five times as many crops as a normal farmer, and grow the crops more quickly on top of that, but the academy housed over six hundred students and staff. Moreover, even with mages ensuring that every day was an exceptional growing day, it was only possible to speed up the growth of crops so far. She had learned this the hard way, when she had tried to feed herself and Tiffania after her father's lands and those of the Archduke of Albion had been expropriated by the Crown.

The only question was whether Old Osmond knew this himself, and was simply trying to keep up her spirits while planning something, or whether he really did think their situation was indefinitely sustainable. Annoyingly, as predictable and easily manipulated as he was in other ways, a century of dealing with the nobility of Tristain had made his poker face far too good for her to read either way.

Of course, Miss Longueville, the daughter of a disgraced ex-noble, whose only exceptional features (besides the obvious) were her ability to read and write with great penmanship and grammar, would know none of that.

"Oh thank goodness," she replied, sighing in relief, as she placed a hand upon her chest. "I'm sorry, headmaster. I just get so worried sometimes."

"It's no matter, Miss Longueville. Just try to trust us teachers a little more in the future. We're cannier than you might think. Now," he continued, turning back towards Professor Vendome, "I'd like you to continue exploring our new surroundings tomorrow, Vendome. Perhaps, you could try to find a town or other settlement nearby. However, before that, it would probably be wise if you heard what Colbert has learned from prisoner. Hopefully, he'll be here shortly. In truth, I had already expected him to be finished by now."

Miss Longueville frowned thoughtfully. To her my mind, Jean Colbert – an absent-minded and kind, if very intelligent professor – was an odd choice to question a prisoner, but that was hardly the sort of thing Miss Longueville would comment upon, so she remained silent.

Meanwhile, Old Osmond and Professor Vendome chatted idly regarding a few other matters: repairing malfunctioning alviss, what the students should be told, how to deal with concerns from the cleaning and cooking staff, and how salaries would be handled if reliable contact with the Tristanian Crown could not be reestablished by Voidsday, when their next payment was due. These were important matters, of course, but were only peripherally related to her goals, so she only listened to their conversation with half an ear.

Fortunately, Professor Colbert – a balding, middle-aged man, whose serious blue eyes stood out clearly even behind his glasses – was not too long in coming.

After greeting the headmaster, the fire mage received a perfunctory greeting in turn before he was waved towards a seat beside Vendome along the wall.

"Now, Colbert. This supposed knight our guards captured has claimed to be part of a House Nayland, wasn't it? I cannot think of any noble family in Tristain with that name. Were you able to discover anything more form him?"

The professor sighed, appearing troubled.

"Yes, I did. He was actually quite cooperative – nearly gloating, in fact – but I am not sure that I can bring myself to believe anything he said."

"You think that he lied?"

"No. As far as I could tell, he believed everything he said. I am simply reluctant to believe it myself."

Professor Colbert took a deep breath.

"He claims to be from a village known as Hag's Mire, which is ruled over by his elder brother. From what I could tell, this brother has rank similar to a Baron in these lands."

The headmaster interrupted him.

"He is a mage, then? The guards did not find any wand on him."

"No," Professor Colbert replied, shaking his head. "In fact, he seemed to scoff at the very idea of magic, as if it was practically unheard of. If his words can be trusted, then it may be that magic is not a prerequisite for becoming a noble in this land, as is the case in Germania."

"Hm. I see. Continue."

"According to our prisoner, his family is sworn to Lord Walder Frey, who is something like a Count. This Lord Frey serves Lord Tully, some sort of petty king, like those in Germania. In turn, this Lord Tully is apparently sworn to the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon."

Old Osmond was frowning, deep furrows setting into his brow.

"Are you quite sure he was not lying, or, perhaps, merely intoxicated?"

"Yes. As I said, he seemed to believe what he was saying. As far as I can tell, he knows nothing of Halkegenia, or even the elves. He did speak of another continent to the East – Essos – but his descriptions of it bear no relation to any location with which I am acquainted. Either he is mad, or Miss Valliere's failed spell has somehow transported us quite far from home."

"Then he is mad," Vendome declared heatedly, his long, brown hair falling over his eyes as he abruptly stood up. "A spell which transports an entire academy in an instant is already madness, but to transport us beyond even Rhub Al Khali is impossible! I refuse to believe that such a thing can exist."

Osmond's eyes were shadowed, as he considered the matter, peering down at his finely-made, sequoia desk.

"I too, have trouble believing in such a thing, Vendome, as does Colbert, from what I understood."

The headmaster waited for the fire mage to nod, offering his agreement.

"However, regardless of the truth of this man's claims. He did say at least one thing which may be of significant value to us. Colbert, were you able to get directions to this village of Hag's Mire from our prisoner?"

Colbert blinked.

"No, Old Osmond. I-I'm sorry. I seem to have forgotten with, well, everything else he said. I'll find out right away."

"Good. Vendome, you should go with Jean, and have our prisoner provide a map. Then, tomorrow, you will take two volunteers from among your third year students, along with Mister Vauban – I recall that he summoned a fire dragon familiar last year, so each of you should be able to carry a passenger – and explore this village, if it exists. That will hopefully provide evidence either for or against our prisoner's fantastical claims."

"Of course, Old Osmond."

"I'll get to it right away, headmaster."

Nodding, the two men headed for the door. Then, after Professor Vendome had left, Colbert turned back towards the headmaster with an uncertain expression.

"Old Osmond, about Miss Valliere..."

Osmond waved him away.

"Do not worry, Colbert. I am not so old and foolish yet as to hand out a severe punishment to a student for an accidental miscast. When she awakens, you may inform Miss Valiere that she will not be permitted to cast any more spells unless she is under the supervision of one of her instructors, as we do not need a repeat of whatever she did. Otherwise, she will be free to do as she wishes, with one exception. It is clear that, whatever has happened to us, Miss Valliere's magic is at the root of it, so I intend to study just what she has done, in order to see if it can be reversed. In this matter, I will expect her full cooperation. Does that satisfy you?"

Colbert simply nodded.

"Yes. Thank you, Old Osmond. I think that Miss Valliere will be glad to hear that when she awakens."

Without another word, the fire mage followed his colleague out the door and towards the academy's prisoner, leaving the headmaster and Miss Longueville alone. Then, for some time, the pair simply sat silently at their respective desks, seemingly lost in thought.

That Miss Valliere's malfunctioning magic had transported them all the way to another continent seemed impossible to Fouquet. As a triangle-class Earth mage, she had a very clear idea of what Brimiric magic could and could not do.

Certainly, there were legends of incredible feats thousands of years ago, but those were just legends. They might not even be true. Of course, even today, there were square-rank mages who could single-handedly annihilate a brigade of soldiers, or transfigure a beach of sand into beach of gold dust, but even if she could not equal those feats herself, the thief could at least understand how they might be performed in principle. With enough wind, any army could be blown away, while transfiguration of metals was certainly within her abilities, even if gold was beyond them for now. By contrast, she could not even conceive of a mechanism which might have been used by the Valliere girl's failed spell. Popping from one continent to another in flash of light was more like a story out of a faerie tale than any magic Fouquet had ever seen performed.

She was well aware, however, that her scepticism did not primarily stem from academic considerations.

Wardes was in Tristain, and she doubted that he would send her payment to a continent which was not even on any Halkegenian map. Even more importantly, though, Tiffania and her orphans were in Halkegenia. Long ago, she had sworn to herself that before everything else, even her vengeance against the nobility she loathed, Fouquet would provide for Tiffania and keep her safe. However, doing that from some unknown continent would be impossible. Her sister in heart, if not in blood, was a half-elf, living in the middle of a civil war, with no more guile or cunning than a newborn baby bird. Without Fouquet's assistance, she could not hope to survive for long.

Tomorrow, Vendome and his students would investigate this village of Hag's Mire and discover that the man they had captured was either delusional or a liar. No doubt they were in some backwater part of Germania. Returning to Tristain would take time, but would be doable, and it would even provide Fouquet with a number of good opportunities to snatch the Staff of Destruction while in transit. Then, once the staff was in Wardes' hands, she would wash her hands of Tristain, and head back to Tiffania's cabin with all the money they would need to keep her and the children safe. That's what she believed. It was what she had to believe. She-

Foquet's thoughts abruptly cut off, as the exotic, green-haired woman noticed something out of place. In a carefully calculated motion, the headmaster's secretary slowly raised her foot, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her leg, and then, without warning, her foot stomped down upon the floor with all the wrath of a woman whose deep thoughts had been interrupted by a peeping tom.

A high-pitched squeak from beneath her desk, and the rapid retreat of four small legs from underneath her table, indicated that she had missed yet again, but at least the peeping tom would be denied his perverse pleasures for now.

Miss Longueville's eyes turned towards Headmaster Osmond, who was pretending to nap at his desk, pipe in his mouth, with a vengeance.

"Old Osmond," she spoke up in a clipped tone. "We have discussed this before."

The ancient mage simply continued to lay his head on his desk with his eyes closed, loudly snoring, as if to indicate, 'see, I'm actually asleep.'

His canny secretary was not fooled.

"Fine then, if you are so tired, then, as your secretary, it is my responsibility, to do what I can for your continued health."

Saying that, the secretary, raised her wand and, with a swish, sent the headmaster's pipe flying out of his mouth and into her waiting hand.

The headmaster mumbled something in his seeming sleep which sounded suspiciously like, "Oh, what a cruel secretary I have, to take away the last pleasures of an old man in his final years."

Miss Longueville, who heard him quite clearly, remained unmoved.

"You are, of course, correct, Old Osmond. You will find," she continued, opening the drawer of her desk and placing the headmaster's pipe inside of it, "that I am wholly willing to keep denying an old man this particular pleasure for one day for each time your familiar peeps at my underclothes."

"Oh, Motsognir, truly you are my only friend," the old man once again mumbled in a voice which was suspiciously coherent for one who seemed to be asleep.

Having made his way to Osmond's side, the mouse offered a consoling, "Chuchu," to his master.

"And you won't get any more friends until you start acting in a manner befitting your position, Old Osmond, so stop complaining."

"Ah, I see, Motsognir," suspiciously clear, if dreamy, voice spoke up again. "White and plain again again, hm. Perhaps, Miss Longueville would be in a better mood if she wore something a bit more daring. It might even help her catch a husband."

"Chuchu," his familiar replied, concurring with his old master.

Old Osmond's secretary simply gritted her teeth, and then, with a haughty sniff, turned away from the headmaster and towards the correspondence on her desk. When he was like this, the old letch seemed to view even negative attention as encouragement, so, no matter how aggravating he was, the best way to handle him was just to ignore his antics. Even if going through the headmaster's mail on her desk was probably pointless in the academy's new circumstances, it would at least serve as a distraction from the old pervert for an hour or so.

She would just have to keep careful watch over the area beneath her chair and her desk. Motsognir was small and sneaky, but not so small that he could escape her vigilance. Perhaps, once she had repelled a few of the old letch's advances, a miracle might even occur, and he would follow her good example, getting some work done.

Opening the first of the headmaster's letters – this one from the Montmorency family – Miss Longueville sighed. This cover identity and this job: hopefully, she would be finished with both of them very soon. She really felt like spending some time with Tiffania right now.


End file.
